


In The Passion Of Heat

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit Of The Final Problem Thrown In, Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Omega, Crack, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Jim is a Little Shit, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Mycroft Holmes, Parody, Post-Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Virgin Mycroft Holmes, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22239652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Virgin alpha Sherlock gets captured and finds himself in a strange room where someone is waiting for him. An omega in heat. And not just any omega...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 23
Kudos: 137





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



> My first and probably only attempt at writing alpha/omega. Of course it got cracky. I was corrupted by SlytherinsDragon and her fantastic a/b/o stories :)

Fighting and struggling, Sherlock can’t help being pushed into a room that is so dark he can’t see anything. They untie his wrists and he turns to attack them but he just hears a low chuckle and then he sits on his arse and the door gets closed and locked behind him.

Before he can get up and do something as embarrassing as hammering against a door that will certainly not be opened because of this, the smell hits him. An omega in heat. And distress. The smell is strong and sharp but also sweet, and he curses and tells his alpha cock to behave. Normally he would immediately retreat from this confrontation – he has thrown male clients in heat out of the flat or fled himself, leaving them to good old beta John because he can’t be bothered with something as messy and stupid as sex – but unfortunately, he doesn’t have this opportunity now. And then he completely freezes when he realises there is something familiar in this scent. Only slightly. He has certainly never met this man, and it is definitely a man, in this state. But he knows him.

And then the lights are turned on and he shrieks.

“Oh, little brother. I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says in the saddest tone he has ever heard it speak.

What was going on here? Mycroft… an omega?! How was this possible?! And God, that smell… He feels like fainting. His trousers are tenting… He needs to get out of here. Now! Unable to say a word, he gives Mycroft a pleading look, as if it was his fault they are in this situation now.

His brother, sitting on a large mattress like a picture of misery, nods, biting his bottom lip. “I know. I’ve hidden it from everybody. Took… suppressors. Never got into heat. Never had an alpha. And then these people knocked me out in front of my own door and brought me here.”

Sherlock gapes at him, noticing he is shaved and his hair is tousled but not greasy. “For how long have you been in this room?” At least he can speak again now.

“All weekend. Oh, they let me use the bathroom and gave me food and water. But nothing else...”

This has been planned thoroughly. Someone knows this secret about his brother that even Sherlock has had no clue about. Someone has brought them together for a reason. Sherlock doesn’t even want to think about which reason… “Who, brother?” He doesn’t know the men who have captured him. They did not say a word to him. One moment he was waiting for a cab after solving a case (on his own; John is at home, ill), the next moment he found himself in a car with those muscular idiots. They definitely brought him here for someone else.

He winces when a part of the wooden wall slides aside – to reveal a large monitor. Showing a familiar face…

“ _Oh, hello, Holmes brothers! How are you on this beautiful day?”_

Sherlock glowers at the attractive, obnoxious face of Jim Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime. “You!” Moriarty wears another Westwood suit. Looking good, the insane arsehole.

“ _Yes, me. You annoyed me, Sherlock.”_

“What?! I gave you the bloody memory stick!” Sherlock avoids looking at Mycroft, even though he knows about it of course. “You didn’t want it. Threw it into the damn pool!” Where he fished it out again to give it back to his brother. Unfortunately, Mycroft knew what happened with it before – bloody cameras – and delivered a rather nasty lecture… It was the last time he saw him until today.

“ _Yes, but I changed my mind! Sent my best man to dive for it. And it was gone. Back to boring big brother.”_ Jim shakes his head theatrically. _“You need a lesson, both of you.”_ His grin is mean to say the least.

Sherlock can feel sweat breaking out on his back. He can sense Mycroft staring at his crotch. Of course he is trying to let it be but it seems to get more difficult by the minute. An – above all totally inexperienced – omega in heat, craving for an alpha cock. And an equally virgin alpha, having gone into rut, craving for the sticky wetness of an omega’s _cloaca_ to bury his cock in. Both locked together. A great combination…

Jim sees his distress and chuckles. _“I’m a forgiving man though. The door will be opened in an hour, and then you’_ _ll be_ _free to go.”_

An hour. Could as well be a month. Sherlock can feel his cock leaking into his pants. It gets harder every time he breathes in and smells his brother’s alluring scent. He can’t even imagine how Mycroft is feeling in the presence of a highly aroused alpha. It is all pretty much fucked up, so to speak.

“ _And just in case it gets unbearable...”_ Somehow a drawer slides out of the only piece of furniture apart from the bed – an ugly desk.

Sherlock knows what he will find in the drawer before he walks over to look into it. A gun.

“ _Only one bullet. Well, should be enough!”_ Jim beams at him.

He thinks Mycroft will use it to end his own life. End his craving for his own little brother, from whom he’s been estranged for decades. Or that Sherlock will use it – to kill Mycroft, end the irresistible temptation… And just in the improbable case that they won’t do that – their encounter (and the sheer thought of actually doing this makes him shiver) will be filmed and put into the internet for everybody to see… Moriarty is watching them after all so this monitor works both ways...

But Moriarty laughs, having deduced his thoughts. _“No, Sherlock. I’m not that mean. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see this. And I hate blackmailers. And what would it prove if I filmed you and made it public? That you were forced to do it. No fun here.”_

It is not illegal per se to have sex with a sibling. It happens too often. An omega brother and an alpha brother, living together. It’s not such a big deal, at least if they don’t produce some sick offspring. It would be, in their case. What if Lestrade sees that? Or John… Let alone their parents… But he does believe Jim. He has not planned to film them. But only because he is completely sure that...

“ _But of course we know it will never happen. Well? Mycroft? Ready to shoot yourself?”_

Sherlock only now looks Mycroft in the eyes again, and he gasps in shock at his state; it is even worse than he expected. The politician is sweating and shivering, his eyes are bulging out of their sockets. He keeps licking his lips. His trousers are tenting, too… Damn, his brother is hung well for an omega.

And Sherlock makes a decision. “Fuck off, Jimmy. Nobody is going to shoot anyone. Except for you, when we come out of here.”

Jim laughs like the maniac that he is. _“Oh, I’ll be gone. You’ve spoilt my fun in this country. There are so many other places to live. And you really, seriously want to fuck your big brother?”_ He doesn’t exactly sound disappointed or appalled at the prospect, knowing his nasty plan has not worked out as he expected. In fact he sounds rather excited. Pervert...

Sherlock grins. “Yes. I hope you’re going to enjoy the show.” He turns to Mycroft and his eyes ask if he wants to do this. It is stupid enough. Of course Mycroft wants it. But will he let it happen? But they both know they can’t sit around for an hour, doing nothing. The hormones are way too strong for so much self-control. So it’s a simple fuck-or-die decision, and he won’t let Moriarty win. Nobody is going to die here. Only perhaps from embarrassment when it’s over but he leaves this problem to future-him.

Mycroft seems to be far from being able to think straight but he manages to nod and rasp out, “God, yes, fuck me, Sherlock. I want you in my arse.”

This wanton statement out of the mouth of the furiously blushing British Government tips him over the edge. Sherlock impatiently undresses, and watches his brother ripping his expensive but crumpled clothes off. A moment later he is all over him.


	2. Giving In

God, his brother feels so warm, and soft, and all this wiry black hair under his fingers. Sherlock is literally drooling while lapping and nibbling at his brother’s neck after sharing a messy kiss with him. Mycroft is wiggling under him, begging for his cock. It is a highly amazing sensation.

He pays no attention to Jim’s constant comments; they are no more than background noise in a new universe of unknown scents and feelings and desires with beautiful big brother pawing at him in dire need of more kisses and gropings and Sherlock's busy tongue, exploring him in a state of total devotion.

“ _Damn, look at your arse, Sherlock!”_

He has it up in the air and he couldn’t have cared less if Moriarty is seeing it.

“ _Big brother has a pert little backside, huh? Look at all the slick!”_

Sherlock rubs Mycroft's arse with reverence. Smooth, firm cheeks, crying to be bitten.

“ _I want to lap up all your juices! God, fuck him, Sherlock!”_

Sherlock simultaneously can’t wait to bury his cock in Mycroft's dripping, quivering hole, which has opened its hidden gates to give him access to the organs of Mycroft's secondary gender and burns to thoroughly touch and kiss every inch of his soft skin before going all the way. The sweet nipples! The flat belly, and God, does he regret all the unnecessary weight jokes now! Those long legs! And, of course, the scent glands! He laps and licks at the main one in Mycroft's neck and it’s like nothing he has ever tasted. He can’t kiss and lick and caress enough, his cock so hard that he could probably knock someone (preferably Moriarty) out with it.

“Please, I need you,” Mycroft whines, totally lost to the world, grinding his wet behind against every piece of Sherlock's body he can find.

“ _Give it to him!”_ pants Jim. “ _Fuck, and I called him the Iceman! Totally melting, the man!”_

Sherlock notices this amazed comment and chuckles before he pushes Mycroft to his front to finally bury his tongue in his arse. The taste of the natural lubricant is overwhelming. Sherlock wants it bottled for his pleasure on quiet evenings. He laps and swallows and moans in delight. Mycroft is making very weird noises now, pushing his needy hole against his face, making him almost choke on all the lovely liquids that keep filling his widely open canal.

“ _Put your cock into him! Now!”_ screeches Jim. _“Fuck his brains out!”_

Sherlock looks at the monitor with dazed eyes. His face is wet and sticky and he loves it. Then he turns to Mycroft. “Hold on for a moment,” he says and gets up from the mattress.

“Where are you going?!” he hears from two distressed voices.

He gives Mycroft a soothing grin and walks over to the desk.

“ _Oh no,”_ mumbles Jim.

“Oh yes.” Sherlock points the gun at the monitor. He has one bullet and he will use it reasonably.

“ _Don’t! You have any idea how expensive this thing is?! I promise to shut up!”_

“I don’t believe you,” Sherlock calmly retorts, and the last thing he sees from Moriarty before he fires at the bloody screen is a surprisingly good-natured rolling of his huge, dark eyes.

The monitor explodes in spectacular sparks and the smell is ghastly. For a moment Sherlock fears the room will catch fire but the flames are thankfully short-lived.

At Mycroft’s begging he returns to the bed to take care of another sort of fire, in peace and quiet this time. And he doesn’t waste any more time. He urges Mycroft to get on all fours and then he pushes his large, throbbing alpha cock into the place where it belongs. He briefly wonders if this is the reason he has never wanted another omega – as if he knew deep inside that there was a very special one is waiting for him. He feels a deep pride that he is the one to give this wonderful omega man what he needs; well, it hasn’t happened quite voluntarily but it feels like something that should have happened nonetheless. So he holds onto Mycroft's soft hips and proceeds to indeed fuck his brains out.

*****

Is he in heaven? Or hell? Will he go there? Where do all these beautiful colours come from? These and many more questions are whirling through his foggy mind. Mycroft is drifting on the highest height of his life. Did Sherlock feel like this when he got high on cocaine and whatever else he chose to consume? Judging by the whimpering noises he makes while thrusting into him, he feels the same way now. 

Every time Sherlock's increasingly swollen cock nudges against his prostate, Mycroft groans and curses, sometimes in French, sometimes in Japanese. He can feel Sherlock's knot getting thicker, keeping his freely flowing juices in his _cloaca_ , engulfing the large alpha cock with stickiness. The noises are obscene, the feeling is more than he can bear. His main scent gland is throbbing, his arms and legs are barely holding him up. How long have they been fucking now? It is impossible to say. It feels both like hours and like seconds.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” roars Sherlock behind him, and Mycroft can feel his knot tying them together almost painfully now.

He collapses onto the bed, almost getting crushed by Sherlock's weight when his brother follows, and then he can feel spurt after spurt of the alpha’s semen filling him up; they are knotted together now. And then Sherlock laps at his scent gland and Mycroft pushes back into his face, and then there are sharp teeth and he gasps, his heart bursting with an affection he has tried to suppress for ages. Is this happening? Can it be true?

And then Sherlock bites down and if Mycroft felt like being out of his mind with arousal and happiness before, this is a million times stronger. It feels like his soul is being shot out of a cannon, right into heaven. He comes with Sherlock still spurting inside him and he feels the overwhelming delight of being bonded to the only alpha he has ever dreamt of being his mate.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding.”

Mycroft smiles. “Just lick over it and it will close.” There will be a mark that will show he is bonded now. Forever tied to his little brother. The reality slowly sinks in. All the raised eyebrows they will face, especially from John Watson – and their poor old parents. But Mycroft can’t be arsed to worry about this now.

He turns his head when he hears a noise. It’s the door that has opened up. Nobody comes to attack them, helpless as they are now. At least Crazy Jim has kept his promise.

“We can’t get out of here now,” Sherlock mumbles against his ear.

“No. Not for a while longer I assume.” 

No way to get dressed and leave. The knot has not loosened one bit so far. It feels great. 

But… “You know… There is a high possibility that I just got pregnant.”

“Ah,” Sherlock breathes. “A little boy with my curls and your pretty eyes. And our combined intelligence. He’s going to rule the world.”

“He?” Mycroft smirks.

“Yes. I can feel it.”

His brother has always been pretty good at premonitions. And he can sense Mycroft's next question. “He’ll be fine,” he assures him. “A perfect little genius. Everything will be fine. Oh, I can move again.”

Mycroft thinks it’s a pity but they will go to his house now and cuddle up together. He will let Anthea know that he will take the next day, Monday, off. They need to talk, he and little brother. They need to have more sex. His heat is not over yet, even though the edge has been thoroughly taken off it. 

They quickly refresh themselves in the bathroom before they get dressed and leave the house. Nobody is there anymore. Jim M. will get away. Well, at least he will obviously leave the country so they are finally rid of him. 

Hand in hand the two mates walk across the street. Mycroft calls for a car as soon as they have figured out where they are. The sun is shining. He feels like a new man. And he is. And if Sherlock is right, they soon will be dads to a little son. Or a daughter; Mycroft doesn’t care as long as the child will be healthy. But he too can feel it will be. This is, as clichéd as it sounds, the first day of the completely new and exciting rest of their lives.

The End


End file.
